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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458822">Baby, It's Cold Outside (But Your Insides Are Warm)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilKrissMuffet/pseuds/LilKrissMuffet'>LilKrissMuffet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abduction, Alcohol, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bodily Fluids, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Disembowelment, Dominance, F/M, Gross, Knives, Marking, Murder, Necrophilia, Praise Kink, Predator/Prey, Sexual Violence, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Warning: Strade (Boyfriend to Death), mention of vomit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:34:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28458822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilKrissMuffet/pseuds/LilKrissMuffet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You've just moved into a new home in a nice, well-to-do neighborhood. The guy that lives across the street from you has taken it upon himself to give you a proper welcome by inviting you over for a cup of coffee one evening. There's a big blizzard brewing on the horizon, but you accept his invite anyway. You don't know what it is about this handsome stranger, but you can't help but feel safe with him. You'll stay awhile, have a little chat, and then skedaddle before the snow hits...right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Protagonist/Strade (Boyfriend to Death), Strade (BTD/TNR)/Reader, Strade (BTD/TNR)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Baby, It's Cold Outside (But Your Insides Are Warm)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by a friend of mine who was like "Hey, what if that one creepy Christmas song was about Strade?" I mean...it fits. So I HAD to write it lol </p><p>and I know it's a little late for that, but the holiday isn't mentioned anywhere in the lyrics so you know what? It's just a winter song, now. :)</p><p>Credit also goes to the song "Baby, It's Cold Outside", written by Frank Loesser in 1944.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I really can’t stay…(baby, it’s cold outside)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> It’s been a pleasant evening with your friendly new neighbor. Strade is funny, handsome in a scruffy, rough around the edges kind of way, and above all else, makes you feel so…comfortable. Almost like you’ve known him for years even though he only just came over to introduce himself the previous afternoon. He smiles as you polish off your first drink, coffee with a generous splash of some creamy-tasting liqueur, and automatically pours you another despite your half-hearted protests.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’ve got to go away…(but baby, it’s cold outside)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You make some flimsy excuse about needing to wake up early for work the next day, sneaking a nervous look out the window as the first few snowflakes of the incoming blizzard begin to fall. He doesn’t need to know that your office will be closed tomorrow since the weatherman has predicted it will be more than a foot on the ground when all is said and done. Strade just laughs; an easy, cheerful sound that has you bringing your second drink to your lips, anyway. What’s the harm, after all? Your house is only across the street from his, and he’s the kind of guy that would walk with you the short distance to make sure you get home safe. That’s the impression he gives you.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>This evening has been…(been hoping that you’d drop in)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> When you lower your glass, you swear that he seems to be sitting a bit closer to you on the white leather sofa than before, but you don’t complain. If you weren’t already so painfully shy, you would be halfway into his lap by now. “I’m so glad you came over, buddy!”, he chirps happily before leaning towards you with a mischievous sparkle in his eye that causes a faint blush to creep into your cheeks. Or is that just the booze working its liquid magic? “You know…I think I might wanna get to know you better.” </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>So very nice…(I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> His voice is thick and deep and he’s drawling out each word like he’s got a mild buzz going, but one glance at the table tells you that he’s barely touched his own cup. You maybe feel a little uneasy as he inches closer still, as if he wants to share a secret with you, but at the same time you decide you wouldn’t mind getting snowed in with him tonight. His calloused fingers are warm when they close around yours, light but insistent. You like the way his skin feels, even as the makings of an anxiety attack poke at your chest like needles.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>My mother will start to worry…(beautiful, what’s your hurry?)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Needing more time to think about whether or not you should stay, you take another swig of your beverage in order to avoid answering him right away. It’s delicious, warming up your insides pleasingly, much like the gentle touch of his hand and the way his attractive accent wraps around your name. Still, you can’t stop your thoughts from drifting to various reasons why you should just bolt out the front door. Strade is starting to give you an odd look as he squeezes your hand harder, his tongue peeking out slightly from between his lips and sliding from one corner of his mouth to the other. </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>My father will be pacing the floor…(listen to the fireplace roar)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You live alone, so it’s not like anyone will be worried if you don’t make it home until morning. Maybe you should just let him…?, you think to yourself as his other hand wanders to your knee, just barely bunching up the hem of your sweater dress. Another sip and you start to feel a bit floaty. You know you’re a lightweight, but this is different than being just plain drunk. Suddenly you realize that Strade might be the man most women are warned about when they’re told not to go out alone after dark or to carry pepper spray in their handbag. You still want him though, as messed up as that seems.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>So really, I’d better scurry…(beautiful, please don’t hurry)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “What’s the matter, Y/N?”, he asks, not really seeming all that concerned if you’re being perfectly honest. “Cat got your tongue?~” Maybe it’s the alcohol…or whatever you’re pretty sure at this point he slipped into it when you were gazing at the wall of white outside, but his laughter no longer sounds like a clear, jingling bell. Now it’s more akin to a cackling hyena circling its prey as it prepares to take her down.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>But maybe just half a drink more…(put some records on while I pour)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You set your half-empty glass on the tabletop as your pulse quickens and your ability to speak or formulate coherent thoughts begins to slowly dwindle. Your free hand is shaking and he casually asks if you’re cold with the barest hint of sarcasm. Out, out, you have to get out of here! You scream internally at yourself but simply nod yes, instead. Strade is rooting you to the spot, not relinquishing his tight grasp on your hand as he suddenly pulls you against him to whisper in your ear. His tone is dark and cruel, but you’re melting in his strong arms like thin ice in the spring and oh no, why does he smell like hot metal and motor oil? “Shouldn’t be long now,<em> liebling…</em>Just a few minutes more, and you won’t be going <em>anywhere.” </em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>The neighbors might think…(baby, it’s bad out there)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Panic sets in as you try to wriggle free of his embrace, batting uselessly against his chest with your fist. Strade throws his weight forward, pinning you down underneath him on the sofa and you feel something hard and thick prodding at your inner thigh at the same time his tongue drags a slimy, wet stripe up the side of your neck. He starts breathing heavily, sounding more and more excited about forcing himself on you but when his sweaty hand comes up to wrap around your throat, your wildly flailing fingers connect with his face. You dig your nails into his scalp, raking them over his eyelid and down his cheek with as much ferocity as you can muster, which causes him to snarl in pain and instantly let go of you in order to cover the deep scratches that have already begun to well up. At first he appears to be furious, but even in your blurring line of sight you can see his canines are bared in a sick, lusty grin as he licks away some of the blood dripping onto his lips. “Mmm…naughty girl. <em>Das wirst du bereuen.” </em>You have no idea what that last part meant, but you sure as<em> shit </em>don’t care.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Say, what’s in this drink?…(no cabs to be had out there)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You manage to twist yourself sideways and before you know it, you’re on the floor, fighting to stay conscious while Strade giggles like an absolute madman behind you. His shadow looms above as you try to crawl out of the narrow space between the sofa and the table, but your legs seem to have stopped functioning properly. “Aww…leaving so soon?~”, he teases you as you scramble to gain purchase on the fluffy, eggshell-colored carpet and pull yourself towards the exit. What you’ll do next if you actually reach it is beyond you, but truthfully all hope is flagging just as much as your energy. Strade is jacked enough to scoop you up and snap you in half like a graham cracker if he really wants to, and at this point you’re convinced that he does…or <em>worse. </em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I wish I knew how…(your eyes are like starlight now)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> As you claw your way across the floor, you can feel your strength literally draining from your body, until just extending your arm feels like a monumental task. All the while, you know he is simply watching. You can picture the amused smirk on his face, the same one he gave you when he spotted you struggling to carry a large box of your belongings out of your new garage yesterday. “You look like you could use some help…”, he comments, before taking a celebratory sip of his own coffee.<em> Not from you, asshole!, </em>you seethe in silence, though your delirious, drugged-out mind can’t help but wonder what it would be like to ride him like a rollercoaster, nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>To break this spell…(I’ll take your hat, your hair looks swell)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Damn it, what did he roofie you with? <em>Horse tranquilizer?</em> Your relatively petite frame feels like it weighs about a thousand pounds, it’s become <em>that</em> difficult to move. Soon you can’t even lift your head and so you just let your forehead thump down on the rug and close your eyes, listening as Strade finally gets up from his seat to slink towards you. You really should have known better than to be so trusting of some stranger you had only just met, but…he was so <em>kind</em>, brimming with such raw charm and animal magnetism<em>, </em>that you couldn’t resist his invitation even if you tried. Something in his golden-brown eyes had said, <em>“C’mon…I would never hurt you!”</em> Well, you had fallen into that insidious trap, <em>big time.</em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I ought to say no, no, no sir…(mind if I move in closer?)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> A small, frightened noise of defeat is squeezed out of you as one of his heavy combat boots comes down on your spine right between your shoulder-blades, halting the meager progress you had been making in your pathetic attempt to escape. He clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth, scolding you like a misbehaving child. “Now what did I tell you, before? You’re staying with <em>me</em> tonight, <em>schatzi.” </em>He easily flips you over with just the steel toe of his boot and you try to glare up at him, but you’re totally helpless. Strade bends down over you with his palms planted on his knees, grinning widely like he’s just opened a present he has been begging for all year. His one injured eye is squeezed shut, and a lock of scraggly brown hair spills over his forehead to conceal the harsh red lines that you carved into his face. Your last fleeting thought before you finally pass out is how nice of a smile he has, although those pearly teeth do look unnaturally…<em>sharp.</em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>At least I’m gonna say that I tried…(what’s the sense in hurtin’ my pride?)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You jerk awake in the dark rather suddenly, having no idea how much time has passed or where this place might be since there are no windows anywhere to be seen that could give away the time of day. Groaning in pain as the back of your head smacks against the hard surface behind you, the echoing reverberation in your ears tells you it’s probably a metal pole. You instinctively try to reach up and rub the sore spot where it hit, but quickly find that you’re unable to move your arms at all…because they’re tied behind your back. Then just like that, it all comes back to you. The storm. The drinks. Strade.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I really can’t stay…(oh baby, don’t hold out)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> After a short, frantic minute or so of struggling and squirming in your bonds, the abrasive heavy-duty rope is starting to chafe your wrists raw, and so you decide to try and calm down enough to take better stock of your current surroundings. You wiggle and flex your numb toes and fingers, your teeth chattering from the cold. The floor underneath you is freezing as well, most likely cement from the way it scrapes at the underside of your stockinged feet. It’s a little too dark to see anything besides what might be a small refrigerator with its low, droning hum, and a…oh, <em>fuck. </em>Is that a table saw? You find yourself shivering for reasons other than the temperature as you make out the round shape and serrated edge of the deadly blade in the shadows. Wherever this is, it smells like the cleaning aisle at the supermarket.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Baby, it’s cold outside…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You have little time to ponder much else before sheer panic crashes into you full-on like a freight train, causing you to shake and sweat despite the visible clouds of breath puffing out in front of your face as you nearly begin to hyperventilate. Clenching your tightly restrained fists, you scream into the darkness and hearing your own terrified cries bouncing off of the walls that you cannot even see only intensifies the creeping black horror you feel deep in your gut. Judging by the sound, this room has to be huge. First you scream for help. Then you scream his name. Unbeknownst to you, this won’t be the last time you do so.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I simply must go…(but baby, it’s cold outside)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Not long after, you hear the creak of a door swinging open, a heavy one by the sound of it, and a beam of light illuminates a flight of wooden stairs to your far left. The door slams shut again, leaving you in darkness for only a second before the room is completely flooded with glaringly bright, artificial light. Slow, deliberate footsteps, “<em>bootsteps"</em> if you will, descend towards you and as your eyes adjust, it is revealed you’re being held captive in what appears to be some kind of basement woodworking shop. Carpentry tools, of both the manual and electric variety, are <em>everywhere.</em> Resting on tables, mounted on the walls, but they all look sort of rusted at first glance. Or maybe they’re just…stained? As you catch sight of the floor around your feet, your worst assumptions are confirmed. It’s faded to a brownish shade of brick, but it’s unmistakably blood. You can smell its vaguely unpleasant metallic tang underneath all the chemicals.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>The answer is no…(but baby, it’s cold outside)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “Ohh! Look who’s awake! I thought for sure I gave you enough to last a few hours, at least.” Strade stands casually against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell, looking you up and down with a curious smirk before strolling over in your direction. He has a bandage over one side of his face, his eye still squinting slightly from where your fingers jabbed into the socket. Once he catches you admiring your handiwork, that smirk stretches into a horrible grin. You cringe away, trying to spin yourself around the pole in a half-assed attempt to avoid him, but he crouches down in front of you, his knee wedging its way between your own as he grasps your chin in his hand. His thick, rough fingers press into the soft part of your cheeks, hard enough to make your teeth ache and worsen your hangover-like migraine. “No matter, little one. You called for me…so now I’m ready to play.”</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Your welcome has been…(how lucky that you dropped in)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You tremble with dread at the implication of those words, swallowing the dry, scratchy tickle in your throat as you desperately try to avert your gaze from his. Those eyes are the color of honey but the way he stares at you, like he wants to eat you alive, is anything but sweet. Strade leans in closer, nuzzling his five-o’-clock shadow against your neck. It feels like sandpaper and his boozy breath is hot and moist. He’s <em>definitely</em> knocked a few more back since—”<em>Ahh…</em>hahaha…I knew you’d be a handful. <em>So lebhaft…und dreist.” </em>He taps a finger against the bandage on his face before gliding his hand far enough on your leg to hike up the hem of your dress. “Allow me to return the favor.”, he purrs, soft yet threatening. It makes your heart skip a beat and you bite your lower lip as he continues to caress you, chuckling darkly at the way you tense up at his deceptively gentle touch.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>So nice and warm…(look out the window at this dawn)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>RRRIIIPP. </em></b>Without any further warning, he pinches the nylon material between his fingers and tears downward along the entire length of your thigh in one swift motion. Trying to stay as calm and still as possible after figuring that freaking out only revs his engine more, you remain silent, sealing your lips in a tight line even as he digs his dirty, ill-trimmed fingernails into your exposed flesh. “It’s only fair,<em> liebling,</em> wouldn’t you agree? You make <em>me</em> bleed, I make <em>you</em> bleed…even more.” He lets go of your chin and your eyes widen considerably as you catch the glint of flourescent light reflecting off of something metal in his hand. You try not to react to the sight of the large hunting knife, even as it slowly lowers to your inner thigh. Nothing but a tiny squeak escapes you at the feel of the cold stainless steel on your sensitive skin. Of course, this is not enough for Strade. “Not impressed, huh?”, he remarks, his tone slightly curt and irritated in comparison to the genial, if a little handsy new neighbor you thought couldn’t hurt to have a cup of coffee with before the big blizzard came rolling through. Now you are willing to bet whatever comes next <em>will,</em> in fact, hurt. A <em>lot.</em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>My sister will be suspicious…(gosh your lips look delicious)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> You grit your teeth and throw your head back as the blade begins to move, drawing a thin, but fairly deep line high up on your leg that curves from the inside of your thigh to the top. It leaves a dripping trail of red in its wake and Strade swipes his fingers over the fresh wound, smearing your blood messily and perhaps accidentally-on-purpose brushing between your legs in the process, making your breath hitch. He rubs the blood between the pads of his fingers, licking his lips before lolling out his visibly wet tongue to clean them off. You have to fight the urge to retch at the way he moans in pleasure from the taste. <em>“HMMmmm</em>hmhmaahh~…I must say. Most others start crying and begging for mercy by now…” You glance up from your stinging, blood-streaked leg to glower at him defiantly and you can already tell he’s growing increasingly annoyed by how stubborn you’re acting. “…but maybe you’re just playing <em>hard to get!”</em>, he barks, landing a vicious backhander across your face with enough force to make your whole body rock to the side and your aching wrists strain against the ropes. His faltering smile twitches in one corner as he pushes the flat side of his knife under your chin, tilting your head back to make sure he has your undivided attention. “Well. Two can play at <em>that</em> game, <em>Herzchen</em>. You’ll find that I can never resist a good challenge.”</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>My brother will be there at the door…(waves upon the tropical shore)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Despite the dull throb in your cheek and jaw from the sudden impact and the severe rope burn on your wrists, the only reward you deign to give him is a slight sniffle as you blink back the encroaching tears with all your might. As Strade teases the knife down the column of your throat, you make a silent promise to yourself that no matter what he does to you, no matter how much it hurts, this psychopath will not see you cry. He doesn’t deserve the <em>satisfac—</em>Just then, your thoughts are rudely interrupted by a sharp pain slicing its way across your chest, accompanied by another louder ripping sound as he carelessly slashes through the high neckline of your dress, opening another seeping laceration just above the swell of your breast. You suck in a breath through your teeth with determination even as Strade yanks down the limp flaps of your torn sweater, openly eyeing the bleeding wound with palpable hunger. He makes quick work of the ruined bra you’re wearing underneath, leaving you completely bare above the waist. Goosebumps rise up all over your skin and you become embarrassingly aware of the way the damp, chilly air perks up your nipples. God, you wish he wouldn’t just fucking <em>stare </em>like that, but it’s as if he knows how much you hate it. “Still nothing, hm?”, he wonders aloud, nonchalantly groping at you while he wipes the blade off on the shredded remains of your clothing.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>My maiden aunt’s mind is vicious…(gosh your lips are delicious)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Now he’s just being passive-aggressive, almost like he wants you to feel guilty for not letting him have his fun. He cocks his head expectantly and sidles even closer to straddle your legs, trying to intimidate a response out of you with the edge of the knife that wanders all over your body. Small rivulets of blood curve around your breast and drip down into your cleavage, which he eagerly laps up with fervor. You can only blush and bite back a soft moan as he takes one stiffened nipple into his mouth, flicking at it with his hot tongue before biting down hard and tugging it between his teeth. It’s clear that he doesn’t intend this to be pleasurable, but you still can’t help but feel strangely aroused by his rough treatment of you, regardless. He releases you with a lustful groan, trailing his lips back up to your face. <em>“Wie das, liebe?</em> Do you like that?~”, he purrs, slipping his hand under the ripped part of your tights and snickering at the way you writhe against the pole. His mouth is so close to yours, <em>too </em>close. It feels disgustingly intimate and wrong, but you still want to kiss him so badly it makes you light-headed.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>But maybe just a cigarette more…(never such a blizzard before)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The real problem here is that…Yeah. You do. However begrudgingly, you <em>are</em> actually enjoying the way his nasty tongue creeps across your skin. The way his sinister laughter rumbles up from his chest with every minute whimper or spasm that his aggressive ministrations manage to pry out of you. Even the invasive manner in which his fingers edge further between your thighs, widening the gaping hole in your stockings. As he grants himself access with all the entitlement of a long-time lover, you pray that he doesn’t realize how wet you are, but it’s already too late. “Oh, I see what you’re doing here,<em> schatz…</em>why you won’t let me hear your pretty voice anymore…” Strade starts to say, hooking a finger through the front of your panties and deftly sliding the end of his knife through the other side to cut through the filmy fabric. It happens so quickly that you don’t have time to be afraid that he could potentially mutilate your nether regions beyond repair. “You’re upset with me,<em> ja?…</em>because I’m keeping you here?” You let out a choked sort of gasp when he forcefully pushes his index finger into your tight, sopping cunt, grinning deviously when his suspicions are proven <em>very</em> true. </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I’ve gotta get home…(but baby, you’d freeze out there)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “Haha…I know how <em>mmmuch</em> you really wanted to snuggle up in your own ah, <em>comfortable…cozy</em>…bed, tonight…but you see, Y/N…I simply couldn’t allow that. Not with such a, hmm…<em>terrible Schneesturm </em>out there…”, Strade explains, his husky voice laced with derision and mock concern as he curls first one finger, and then another against your inner walls with a surprising amount of precision. Whatever his intentions are, the man <em>clearly</em> knows what he’s doing, making you savagely chew your lower lip in order to stop yourself from simply begging him to fuck you senseless right here on this filthy basement floor. Despite his conversational tone, you notice his prominent erection rubbing up against your stomach as he presses himself closer to you, leading you to wonder exactly what he’s packing in there that could feel so tantalizingly rock-hard and <em>massive. </em>With the direction this bizarre, terrifying situation seems to be headed, you suppose you’ll find out sooner rather than later. </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Say lend me a coat…(it’s up to your knees out there)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> A loose rhythm of lewd squelching noises permeate the stillness with each increasingly violent thrust of his fingers, and he scissors them around inside of you without pause or even slowing down. You focus on your breathing as you try to ignore how deliciously he spreads you open, practically seizing up when he experimentally brushes the pad of his thumb over your clit. He hums with approval at your physical reaction, applying more pressure and rubbing tight, controlled circles into the unbearably sensitive spot. You begin to pant helplessly at the mounting pleasure, though you still vehemently deny him the sound that he craves, refusing to come undone for him. “<em>Ohh…</em>come now…what kind of neighbor would I be if I just, ahh…<em>carelessly </em>let you get all…” Perhaps as a subtle reminder that he still has a dangerous weapon in his possession, Strade proceeds to sweep your hair away from one side of your neck with the blunt side of his blade and run his tongue along the line of your pulsing carotid artery before finishing his thought. “…mmmnnaahh…<em>swallowed </em>up by the snow!” He inserts a third finger, sighing at the feel of your inner walls clenching involuntarily. You aren’t sure how long you will be able to keep resisting him, not with how mercilessly he has already zeroed in on all of your hidden sweet spots. If his intense, penetrative gaze is any indication, he must have largely the same thing on his mind. <em>“Ein kleiner sperling</em> like yourself needs somebody to take care of her, don’t you think?…Someone that knows just how to make her<em> sing.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You’ve been really grand…(I thrill when you touch my hand)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> At first, you fail to register the searing pain in your abdomen above the heated, dizzying sensations washing over the lower half of your body as Strade plays your pussy like a well-tuned instrument…but then you hang your head and it’s the hilt of his hunting knife protruding from your belly that is a dead give-away. “<em>Jetzt wäre eine gute Zeit zu schreien,</em> <em>kleine”, </em>he growls low and menacing from the back of his throat, relishing the bug-eyed look of horrified recognition dawning on your face. Your jaw goes slack as he hooks his fingers into your tense inner walls, using them for leverage to pull the blade up at an angle through your guts, slitting you open like a felled deer. The knife is impeccably sharp and it parts your skin as easily as if you were made out of jello. He is breathing loudly and heavily, a splash of high color in his cheeks to go with the droplets of perspiration rolling down his face and neck. You are unable to even emit so much as a squeak, so frozen with terror and disbelief while blood pours out of the huge gash in your stomach and soaks into what little is left of your dress and tights.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>But don’t you see?…(how can you do this thing to me?)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Strade rips his way out of your dripping cunt, making sure to rake his nails through you as much as possible before slamming his strong hand against your throat with bruising force, squeezing hard with fingers that are still covered in your hot slick. He lowers his head, shrouding his amber eyes in the shadow of his sweaty hair. Hissing humorless laughter through his tightly clenched teeth, he twists the knife around deep inside of you before finally withdrawing a coil of your intestine that has wrapped around the blade. He then holds it up to your face as if to display it proudly, but the sight of your raw, exposed viscera turns the remains of your stomach, causing a river of bile to race up your constricted esophagus. Meanwhile, it has only turned Strade <em>on </em>with a vengeance<em>,</em> even more than he so obviously already was to begin with, it seems. His toothy grin is wet and frothing with drool, like a feral beast. He leans in uncomfortably close, your foreheads nearly touching and you can only hope that you don’t vomit all down the front of his shirt. “I <em>said</em>…hahh…hahh…<em>Scream. NOW.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>There’s bound to be talk tomorrow…(think of my lifelong sorrow)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> This sudden turn of events has really driven it home for you that today is the day that you die. And so you forget your promise, forget your pride, letting go of everything, and you scream. You scream for the agony, the fear. Even the fog of lust that still clouds your delirious mind for some inexplicable reason…for Strade. It comes out garbled and strained around his crushing grip on your neck, but it’s more than enough to please him. He lets out a breathy moan in tandem with your strangled cries, his quavering voice shaking up to a frighteningly unhinged cackle that sends electricity coursing through your gradually emptying veins. <em>“Ohhh, ja…das war’s…Einfach so, liebling!” </em>He sounds borderline euphoric, maniacally so, and he smothers your still-screaming mouth with his own in what you suppose could be confused for an awkward kiss if you don’t think about it for more than a few seconds. As you feel the vibrations of his growling in the roots of your teeth, you are disgusted with yourself to admit that you have never wanted somebody in your entire life as much as you want Strade in this exact moment, and you suspect you never will again for one critical reason. This man is about to fuck you to death.</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>At least there will be plenty implied…(if you caught pneumonia and died)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> While you convulse and bleed all over your own lap, Strade crawls behind you on all fours to sloppily hack away at the ropes that bind you to the metal pole. However, any relief to be had in your newfound freedom is short-lived. Without the support of your restraints to hold you in place, you immediately flop sideways onto the floor, too exhausted from the trauma and the rapid loss of blood to keep yourself sitting upright. He pounces on you, shoving you onto your wounded stomach and clamping a hand over your skull to grind your cheek into the cement. You squirm weakly underneath his cumbersome weight while he tears off the remnants of your clothes until all that is left is your destroyed tights. There is the jarring clatter of metal next to you when he hastily casts his knife aside, now able to fondle you everywhere he can get both of his filthy hands on as he bends far over your back. His bloodstained fingers run along your sides, through your tangled hair and somewhere in the static that crackles inside of your head, you can hear him panting, gibbering at you in a broken cocktail of German and English while he fumbles with his belt buckle and zipper one-handedly. <em>“Sei nicht so schüchtern~</em>…ahahaha…I can tell…<em>hahh</em>…you want this, <em>ja?” </em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I really can’t stay…(get over that old out)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"><em> “Lauter für mich! Lauter!”, </em>he snarls angrily, wrenching at your scalp with a section of your hair wrapped around his fist, but the only way that you can comply with his order is to sob pathetically as tears and snot drizzle down your face. Seemingly placated, he drops your head back down as your hips are hoisted into the air, none too gently. More of your intestines spill out of your abdominal cavity, slapping grotesquely into the red puddle that is spreading out beneath you. Strade wastes no time plowing into you at full tilt, filling you up with his fat, meaty cock all at once with an obnoxious, satisfied groan. You howl out in pain, so convinced that you’re going to split in two as he ramps up the pace with no further preamble. Saliva dribbles from your lips and smears all over the side of your face and against the cement with every savage thrust of his hips. His fingernails dig into your ass, clawing at the flimsy nylon that barely conceals your thighs. As he presses into your back, you notice vaguely that he must have unbuttoned his shirt as well as his pants by the way his hot flesh sticks to yours with the glaze of sweat coating his hairy chest. Your vision slowly begins to fade, your mind drifting as your body goes numb. His mouth is on your ear, growling under his breath. “I <em>always</em> get what I want, Y/N. <em>Verstehen?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Baby, it’s cold…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The last thing to bubble out of your open mouth other than a mixture of spittle and blood is an utterly defeated, barely audible “Y-Yes, Strade…” He smiles against your bare shoulder before plunging both hands into the gore-ridden chasm of your stomach, using your guts for handlebars while he brutally pounds you into the ground, absolutely <em>trashing</em> you. </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Baby, it’s cold outside…</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Fortunately for you, you no longer feel any of it. Your heart stops beating just a few seconds before Strade shoots his load inside of you, arching his spine before sinking his teeth into the back of your neck to show his dominance over such easy prey. He showers you with praise by name, calling you his “good girl”, his “<em>geliebte” </em>as he comes down from his high, not yet realizing that you’re long gone. He collapses on top of your fresh corpse with a heaving sigh, lovingly caressing your entrails while his seed leaks from between your thighs. “Oh, <em>Schätzchen…”, </em>he murmurs, burying his face in your hair. He inhales deeply, shuddering with delight at the coppery scent of your blood blended with the lingering notes of your perfume. “You are so nice and <em>warm~…”</em></span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em>“…on the inside…”</em> </b> </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>German Translation Key</p><p>liebling - darling, favorite</p><p>Das wirst du bereuen. - You will regret that.</p><p>schatzi - sweetheart (general term of endearment)</p><p>So lebhaft…und dreist. - So feisty...and brazen.</p><p>Herzchen - another way of saying "sweetheart" Here, he uses it more sarcastically.</p><p>Wie das, liebe? - How's this, love? (or dear)</p><p>schatz - treasure, favorite</p><p>Schneesturm - blizzard</p><p>Ein kleiner sperling - A little sparrow</p><p>Jetzt wäre eine gute Zeit zu schreien, kleine - Now would be a good time to scream, little one.</p><p>Ohhh, ja…das war’s…Einfach so, liebling! - Ohhh, yes...that's it...just like that, darling!</p><p>Sei nicht so schüchtern. - Don't be so shy.</p><p>Lauter für mich! Lauter! - Louder for me! Louder!</p><p>Verstehen? - Understand?</p><p>geliebte - lover, beloved</p><p>Schätzchen - baby</p></blockquote></div></div>
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